


Libertango

by kivy



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: BalletDancer!Karl, BalletDancer!Wilbur, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sexual Tension, Skater!Sapnap, Strangers to Lovers, about as much as ranboo's memory capacity, background dnf bc this is my fic and if i say i want dnf in it dnf is going in it, like a teensy itty bitty bit of sexual tension, no promises that im funny, something about ballet dancer wilbur just... ooooo it chimmies my changas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivy/pseuds/kivy
Summary: Sapnap's a punk;Karl does ballet.What more can I say?In which the new object of Karl’s interest is the skater boy across the road from his ballet studio, who is too damn attractive for his own good.
Relationships: Karl Jacobs & Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 87
Kudos: 278





	1. Dev Netherw4rt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NETHERW4RT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/gifts), [vreaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vreaa/gifts), [Alienu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/gifts).



> something different! and by that i mean for the people who have read my works before, this is gonna be a lot more chill lmao. no ghosts, no poetry, no heaviness (sorry elle :P). hopefully it's still good :)
> 
> three chapters dedicated to three very very pogchamp people. yall are so cool <3
> 
> enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.”  
> \- Madeline Miller, _The Song of Achilles_
> 
> chapter 1: for [dev](https://twitter.com/NETHERW4RT), who never fails to make me feel at home on twitter dot com and discord and basically anywhere i interact with him. this fic is a gift not only for being a swag person but also for 1k on twitter. proud of you big man :)

It starts with curiosity.

It continues with admiration.

And soon enough, Karl is spending his evenings staring at a skater boy.

The minutes between six and seven PM were always dull for Karl. They marked the passage between the end of his ballet lessons and the time his parents were finally free to pick him up. That was one of the downsides of his studio’s new location, he figured out quite quickly.

But lately, he has been seeing it as one of the  _ upsides. _

And it is in particular thanks to a boy with a skateboard.

It happened two weeks ago - he was waiting on the curb, scrolling mindlessly on social media like he always was, when his phone decided to go bye-bye. It had irked him (of course it had), but being forced to put his phone down and stare out into the world was what gave Karl the opportunity to see...  _ them. _

And once he had noticed, he found himself always watching - enough to note down the patterns.

Across the road - close enough to catch his eye, but far enough to make him lean forward into his knees - was a skatepark. And in it, a scattering of boys who look around his age, skating across the cement with a variety of devices - two boards, a bicycle, and a pair of rollerblades. 

It is always this one boy with a white bandana wrapped around his head, accompanied by various others depending on the day. There’s the boy with a sleek white face mask, who seems to like the way his long blonde hair flows behind him after his board tricks. There’s also the boy with a beanie, whose laugh Karl can hear from even inside the studio walls as he falls off his bike for the fifth time that day. Then there’s the boy with the colour-tinted glasses, who seems to only own two versions of one "404" hoodie that he wears on a cycle . And sometimes, it’s the boy with the white bandana alone.

That is the case for today.

Karl quite enjoys these types of days.

They’re the type to bless him with the chance to stare at the boy for about an hour or so. To follow the boy’s movement as he glides across cement, gracefully doing tricks on his board and somehow never failing to look as elegant as ever.

He is beautiful, Karl thinks. Handsome. Ethereal. Attractive. All of the adjectives.

Karl watches that toned body travel along ramps and curves and across flat surfaces; watches as long white strands flow in the wind; watches as the boy rolls up the sleeves of his maroon varsity jacket, exposing the mural of tattoos that lay on his skin; watches the way the boy’s arms flex when he reaches back and pulls that bandana taught; watches as he stands still and crosses his arms and looks over and tilts his head and raises a brow at Karl and-

Oh.

Oh shit.

He’s looking at Karl.

Hot skater boy with the white bandana and pretty arm tattoos and ripped jeans is  _ looking at Karl. _

Holy  _ shit. _

Karl has no time to panic - by the time he registers the fact that his eyes are being met with piercing brown ones, something is intercepting their locked gaze.

Something sleek; something white. Karl looks up to see his dad staring down at him from inside the car with a raised brow (probably confusion, aimed at his son). Karl feels relieved at the interruption.

He gathers up his things, fumbles his phone a few times, and clambers into the backseat. The leather is a comforting material to melt into as he avoids looking out the window, lest a handsome skater boy be looking at him.

But Karl has never been known to resist temptation.

Curiously, cautiously, he glances out of the window to the skatepark.

Sure enough, there he stands. Colourful arms flexed; tanned skin glistening in the sun; board idly beneath his foot; sharp mahogany-brown eyes hiding a smirk behind their hue.

And Karl is spellbound.

* * *

“Oh  _ boy,  _ Wilbur, do I have news for you.”

Class has just ended, and Karl is making Wilbur listen to his troubles. Wilbur’s used to it. Has been for a few years, now.

Doesn’t mean he can’t be annoyed.

Wilbur rolls his eyes, pulling his bag out of his locker. “Do I  _ want  _ to know what you’re on about?”

“Probably not, but I’m going to make you listen anyway.”

“That seems fair,” Wilbur mumbles, his voice dripping in sarcasm. He shuts his locker door and starts the journey to the carpark, forcing Karl to walk-and-talk through the hallways of their ballet studio.

Karl doesn’t mind. “Okay, so you know skater boy, right?”

“The one you never stop talking about? I’m aware of him.”

“Yeah! Yeah, him. Anyway, so, yesterday, I was watching him like usual-”

“-Still think that’s a little stalkery-”

“-when he looked at me!”

Wilbur’s hand is on the studio’s door handle when he pauses. When he looks over his shoulder and raises a brow. “He looked at you?” Karl nods. “Like, he acknowledged your existence?”

“Yeah! Well. Kind of. I think? He, like, looked at me and gave me a questioning look, but I don’t know why. I just know I found it hot.”

A moment’s silence takes place as Wilbur stares down at Karl with incredulity in his eyes. “That- It’s probably because you’ve been- okay,  _ anyway, _ ” he pushes on the door and trudges to his car, Karl hot on his tail. “Congratulations, I guess. Can’t really say you’re making much progress, but at least he knows you exist.”

Karl shrugs. “Who need progress when you can yearn from afar?”

Wilbur’s laughter is intertwined with the sound of his car unlocking. “So you’re going to continue being a stalker, and nothing else?”

“First of all: not a stalker. Second of all: that's not what I meant. I'm not going to yearn.”

Occupied by throwing his bag and belongings into the backseat via window, Wilbur off-handedly continues the conversation. "Alright, then what  _ are  _ you going to do?"

"I," Karl starts, holding a fist against his chest like he's about to declare his allegiance to love, "am going to talk to him."

Karl is left in silence.

_ Judgemental  _ silence.

Wilbur is inside of his car, engine on, hands on wheel, before he responds through the window. “Mhm. Good luck.”

* * *

God has decided to be merciful to Karl today.

It seems that the skater boy is alone. And that plays to Karl’s advantage in a multitude of ways. One, he can try out those new flirting skills of his that he gathered from the trustworthy source of Reddit.com. Two, there will be no one around to watch him fail at trying said flirting skills.

It’s all very great for dear ol’ Karl Jacobs.

He stands at the curb, practised eyes following a boy skate with ease on the cement across the road. Karl has no plan (when has he ever?) - and is willing to drown in his shame in the name of love - but  _ does  _ have a very vague list of steps to follow:

  1. Walk across the road.
  2. Say hi.
  3. Become friends!
  4. ~~Ask for his number.~~



Currently, he is completing step one in exemplary success. A paragon of jaywalking, and proud of it. (It is a small price to pay to get onto the same side of the road as the skater boy).

When Karl’s white sneakers make contact with the park cement, the skater boy has since halted his skating in lieu of leaning his board against a bench and tightening the bandana wrapped around his head.

He is adjusting the fabric covering his forehead when he notices Karl approaching from the side, and his hands dip into his jacket pockets. Karl holds out his hand in greeting and tries not to lose himself in the boy’s gaze.

Karl calls upon all the gods in the sky, pleading for an ounce of charisma...

"I'm uh. I’m-I’m Karl!"

And the gods respond with a resounding,  _ “no” _ . But, in the face of turmoil, flirting extraordinaire Karl Jacobs will triumph.

“Nice to… meet you?”

The boy's eyes travel down to Karl's outstretched hand, down even further, and then trail back up to meet Karl's eyes. The intensity of his gaze makes Karl shift on his feet. He prays he isn't blushing.

Karl finches when the boy takes a hand out of his pocket, but is washed over with relief when that hand takes his own. The skater boy’s hand is unexpectedly soft - but Karl’s not going to let himself think about that for much longer.

"Sapnap," the boy says.

If his husky voice wasn’t enough to make Karl’s heart stutter, Sapnap running his thumb against Karl’s skin sure is. Karl tries not to question why he does it, and instead mumbles out, "Is that your real name?"

He hears Sapnap hum, as if he’s contemplating his answer. It’s almost teasing, the hum. If Karl didn’t know any better, he would think that the smile Sapnap houses on his face could be a smirk. "Who's to say?"

Karl reckons the gods had refused to give him charisma because they’d run out after giving it all to Sapnap. And he’s not complaining about it in the least.

Sapnap lets go of Karl’s hand, placing his hand back into his pocket, and Karl tries his best not to be disappointed. He inconspicuously wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, just so they have something to do. “You’re that ballet guy, right?” Sapnap asks.

The hands on Karl’s sweater momentarily pause. “Uh.”

“The one that sits on the curb all the time.”

He says it all so casually, like Karl isn’t freaking out over the fact that he exists in the minds of others - let alone  _ the  _ skater boy. “...Yes. That is I. I am… him. Yes.”

Sapnap laughs - more like a huff of laughter, cheeks puffing up with a grin - and Karl can’t help but smile to himself about it. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Karl.”

His name rolls off of Sapnap’s tongue so easily, so effortlessly, but Karl finds himself infatuated with it.

_ ‘Karl’. _

He engraves it into his memory.

“I’ve been wondering if you’d come over and say hi.”

Karl starts engraving this entire interaction into his memory, actually. Screw whatever math equations he’s supposed to know for school, his brain’s memory storage is better off being used to remember  _ Sapnap.  _ “You have?”

A nod, and a shrug. “Seen you watching us every now and then. Alex wanted to invite you over one time, but got distracted and then never did.”

He assumes ‘Alex’ is one of those boys he’s seen around Sapnap. And then tries not to malfunction thinking about how he’s been caught being all lonely for the past few days. “You saw me watching you?”

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t think it was creepy?”

“Ehh, not really.”

_ In your face, Wilbur,  _ Karl off-handedly thinks.  _ Not a stalker after all.  _

“S’kinda cool to have someone watching your tricks, not gonna lie.”

“I’m president of the skater Sapnap fanclub, actually,” Karl lets slip out.

He’s extremely quick to retract the comment, but Sapnap’s laughter falling out of him prevents Karl from doing so. “I have a fanclub, do I?”

It’s too late for Karl not to commit to this. “You do. We’re the- the uh. Sap… lings.”

“...Saplings.”

“Saplings.”

“That’s cute.”

_ So are you.  _ “Cute enough to grant me your friendship?”

The way the corner of his mouth twitches upward, and the way his brow raises; Sapnap looks amused - and Karl hopes it’s a good thing. “You want to be friends?” he asks, though not with harm.

“Yes,” Karl answers. “Yeah.” 

Sapnap hums. “Why?”

Karl isn’t prepared to answer that. “Um,” he starts, and Sapnap chuckles. “Well, I mean... I’ll be there, on the curb, like, practically every afternoon after lessons. And I’m there for, frankly, a long-ass time. It gets lonely. And boring. Twitter can only entertain me for so long, you know? And, like, I’ve seen you guys hang out here quite often and, I don’t know… thought it would be… nice?”

Sapnap gracefully pulls his board off the bench and under his foot - it seems like a choreographed dance, with the way he moves so fluidly. He’s softly rolling the board back and forth when he answers. “So you just don’t want to be lonely.”

“I was trying not to say that, but yeah, that was spot-on.”

Sapnap mounts his board with a chuckle. He’s nonchalant in the way he slowly drifts off, approaching an edge, posture radiating the essence of relaxation. “There’s nothing stopping you from sitting on the sidelines.”

And down he goes.

* * *

“ _ Karlos!  _ Catch!”

Karl has only just managed to turn his head when he sees a can of Pepsi flying his way, courtesy of one Alexis Quackity a few feet away.

He manages to catch the drink, albeit with a little fumbling, and laughs when he sees Quackity trip and fall on his way to run back to the group. “Payback for throwing my drink!” he yells, receiving a particularly rude finger from the boy on the ground.

Karl turns back to watching the boys in front of him, gliding across cement, and leaves his can of Pepsi on the side. (He’s not going to give Quackity the satisfaction of getting Pepsi spilling all over clothes.) Before long, Quackity is brushing past Karl’s face on his bike, loud laughter echoing in Karl’s mind and joining the chatter of the rest of the boys.

It is spring now, with two weeks passed and the cold breeze of winter finally leaving their limbs. Karl has spent the change in seasons with this new group, and has felt more than happy the last few days.

He is left in his thoughts for only a split second when his name is called again - “Karl!” - this time, by George, drifting against the cement next to the ballet dancer.

“Well, if it isn’t Gogy,” Karl teases.

George rolls his eyes and takes a seat, legs and rollerblades hanging off the edge. “If it isn’t  _ i-Karl-y _ .”

“Bad joke.”

“Bad name.”

At the insult, Karl feigns a dramatic pained gasp, earning a slap in the arm by George, who loses himself in laughter. At the sound, Dream looks over and, beneath the mask, Karl sees his face light up.

Shortly following, Karl finds himself sitting between the couple, Dream lying back onto the cement, and George now tracing his fingers on the smiley-face decal on the bottom of Dream’s green skateboard in his lap. Sapnap and Quackity busy themselves on the ramps with trying to compete in extravagance, barely paying attention to the three boys on the sidelines.

“So,” Dream starts while Karl takes a sip of his now-settled Pepsi, “You’ve got a thing for our boy Sapnap, eh?”

A sprout of Pepsi flies out of Karl’s mouth, and George can’t help but start wheezing next to him. “I-  _ What? _ ” Karl chokes out, throat burning from the fizz.

Dream responds with a signature wheeze of his, hands clutching his sides. “Don’t worry, don’t worry! We won’t tell him.”

“I mean, unless you want us too…” George teases with a sing-song voice.

“No,” Karl shakes his head, hair flying everywhere. “No, no, no.”

“No, you don’t have a crush on him, or no, you don’t want us to tell him?”

“No! Yes. No. Yeah. Wait-” Karl sputters, clenching his own hair in his fists. “Wait, wait- Just- Okay.  _ Okay. _ ” He exhales. “I might have a crush on him. Yeah. Yes.” It’s more to reassure himself than George or Dream. “Yeah. I do. Mhm. I… do.”

Two shit-eating grins spread on the faces of both George and Dream, and Karl is all of a sudden  _ extremely  _ regretting his confession.

“Wait, wait, wait-”

“ _ Oh, Sapnap! _ ” The couple sing out in perfect unison, and Karl curses himself for thinking it’s cute.

The skater looks over, nods briefly to Quackity, and starts making his way over. “Lovebirds. Karl,” he greets from the bottom of the ramp. “What’s up?”

Dream throws an arm around Karl’s shoulders. “Our buddy Karl here has something to say!”

“Why are you being all weird?” Sapnap quirks a brow at his best friend, a laugh falling out of him.

“Questions later,” George intercepts, “Karl statement now.”

Karl fumbles. “Uh. Uh. I, uh. Um. I-”

“He’s shy,” Dream interrupts. “Luckily, I’m not! Listen to this, Sir Sapnap, and listen well!”

Sapnap obeys, thoroughly amused. Karl hides his face in his cardigan.

“Our boy Karl here…”

Oh, god.

_ Oh, god. _

Here it comes.

The flood.

Oh,  _ god. _

“Wants to learn how to skate!”

_...Wait, what? _

Sapnap raises a brow, crossing his arms against his chest. “He does, does he?” He stares up at Karl, whose face is undeniably red, and smirks. “We could arrange that.”

Oh.

Well.

Karl glances over at both George and Dream, who smile and wink respectively.

This could work.

Learning how to skateboard.

It’ll be easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.

Karl has this in the bag.

* * *

Karl does  _ not  _ have this in the bag.

Almost an hour has passed since Dream and George’s grand plan of making Karl learn to skate, and it is going swimmingly well!

Karl is lying on the cement.

Covered in bruises.

And his skateboard is six feet away.

_ Swimmingly well. _

But it’s okay.

He’ll learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive never written karlnap before so if you have any feedback for me on their characterisation/dynamic, please feel free to tell me about it! much appreciated <3


	2. Vrea Vreaa Vrealitical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. I'd wake up every morning and think, 'This will end in flames.'”  
> ― Rainbow Rowell, _Carry On_
> 
> chapter 2: for [vrea](https://twitter.com/vrealitical), who may or may not be the reason this fic even exists in the first place bc she has me on constant karlnap brainrot. an amazing writer and overall great person; thank you for interacting with me :)

Here’s a little PSA from the precious diary of dear ol’ Karl Jacobs:

_Skateboarding is fucking hard._

It is halfway through spring, and Karl has only _just_ succeeded in standing on top of a moving skateboard without falling flat onto his face.

As Karl lays on the metal benches on the sidelines of the park, the sun shines its rays onto his exposed arms and legs, highlighting the clutter of bruises now belonging to them. He reminisces about weeks ago, when the only bruises on his body came from ballet. Now, his lean body houses harm from both sports - but he’s not complaining.

“You know, Karl,” a voice comes, and he turns to see Sapnap approaching. “I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Karl feels a little blessed that Sapnap is the one to start the conversation. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re not lying about being a ballet dancer?” He queries, a hint of playfulness in his voice and his gleaming teeth.

They’ve been spending quite a lot of time together, Karl and Sapnap. Within those minutes of six and seven PM after Karl’s lessons. Before, back when Karl was in his phase of yearning and not-stalking, he would sometimes see Sapnap alone at the park. The boys he now knows as Dream, George, and Quackity - just like before, they come and go. Sapnap always remains.

Except now, he’s never alone. Karl is always with him.

He comes to the studio, takes his lesson, speeds out of the studio, and jaywalks his way over to Sapnap. Every day. It is a ritual by now - and no matter how often Karl participates in, he never gets tired.

(It does get a little exhausting pretending he doesn’t have an existential crisis every time Sapnap so much as talks to him, though. But Karl’s not going to admit that.)

“Hmm?” Sapnap pokes, grinning down at Karl. “Are you lying about being a dancer, Karl?”

“Um. Yes? I mean- no? No, I-” He sits up, looking up at Sapnap, whose smile is still prominent. “I’m pretty sure I do ballet, Sapnap.” He wonders what prompted the question.

“Hm.” Sapnap quirks a brow, eyes roving across Karl’s limbs. Karl tries not to squirm. “Aren’t ballet dancers meant to have balance?”

 _Ah. So that’s what._ Karl laughs awkwardly. “Yeah,” he answers, fiddling with his fingers. “I mean, I do have balance! Just, uh.” He glances down at the skateboard Sapnap is idly rolling under his foot. “Not on skateboards.”

Sapnap doesn’t answer for a while.

Karl doesn’t mind the silence - as long as Sapnap isn’t kicking him out of the skate park, he’s happy. (Not that he would.)

When Sapnap does speak, though, Karl listens in anticipation.

“What about rollerblades?”

* * *

Karl knew he was an idiot, but it never occurred to him how _stupid_ he actually was.

“Arms out.”

Being told the basics of keeping his balance is embarrassing Karl to no end. Especially considering it’s _George_ that’s giving him the instructions. As it turns out, it wasn’t the board - Karl is still shit at balancing on anything that isn’t his own two feet on Adagio flooring. “I know how to stay standing, George,” he sobs out, jokingly wiping a tear.

“Evidently, you don’t,” George responds with a laugh. “Need I remind you of yesterday?”

Ah, yesterday. When Karl first put on George’s spare rollerblades and subsequently rolled down the ramp and into Sapnap, barreling the both of them into the cement and ending up atop him, staring down at smirking lips and twinkling brown eyes and hoping, praying, _begging_ to God that the blood remained in Karl’s face and _only_ his face, and _nothing below_ , while George and Dream watched upon in amusement.

“No,” Karl answers miserably. “You don’t.”

George grins. “Arms out, then.”

* * *

Karl is doing it.

_Karl is doing it!_

He’s skating!

He’s… gripping someone’s forearms and letting them walk him around the cement while he glides across at a pace that grandmas would cringe at, too focused on not falling on his ass for the umpteenth time to realise that the person he’s holding onto with a tight grip is being considerate and only leading him around flat surfaces-

But he’s _doing it._

* * *

“Do you think he’s realised that he’s been holding hands with Sapnap for half an hour?”

“Nah, probably not. Hasn’t noticed Sap flirting with him either, I reckon.”

“Too focused on skating?”

“That, or too dumb.”

“That’s rude.”

“But you love me for it, Gogy.”

“Call me that again and your ass is going to be covered in splinters from your own board.”

“Kinky.”

“Masochist.”

“...Master.”

“ _What the fu-_ ”

* * *

Summer arrives with the blinding sun and heavier practice for Karl Jacobs. The better half of spring was, for him, spent learning both ballet choreography and the basic ways to stop whilst wearing rollerblades in a way that wouldn’t upend him and his entire body.

They are ending the lesson now, and Karl is quick to bound over to the lockers to change into clothes more comfortable (and fashionable) to go meet the boys.

Before he can pull on his shirt, Wilbur stops him with a, “Holy shit, Karl.”

Confused, Karl turns and raises a brow. “What? What happened? What did I do?”

Wilbur, halfway through taking his tights off, is staring at Karl’s shirtless body with wide eyes. Karl would be flattered, if he wasn’t confused. “It- What the fuck is all _that?_ ”

“What’s what?”

Wilbur hurriedly shucks off his pants and approaches Karl with open hands - to which Karl instinctively pulls away. This seems to break Wilbur out of his stupor, and he retracts his hands, but the furrow in his brow remains. “Your bruises. Why do you have… so many? What happened?”

“Ah.” Karl looks down, inspecting his own body, and his gaze catches on the multitude of bruises littering his torso. He winces a little, knowing that if this is what the top half of his body looks like, the worst of it will make itself known on his legs. (Luckily, he already has his jeans on.)

“Are you, y’know… _safe?_ ” Wilbur asks.

“Oh. Oh! Oh, yeah, don’t worry, I’m safe, I’m fine!” Karl reassures in a rush, nervous laughter falling out of him. “I promise I’m all good.”

Wilbur doesn’t seem all too convinced.

“These are just from, uh-”

“From _what_ , Karl?”

“...Skating.”

The concern in Wilbur’s eyes replaces itself with confusion. “Skating?”

Karl clears his throat, reaches into his locker, and pulls out the rollerblades that George had so kindly gifted to him when he was starting to learn.

_(“Keep them,” George had said._

_“But they’re yours,” Karl had argued._

_“I upgraded,” George rebuked._

_And that was that.)_

Wilbur, staring down at the slightly worn-and-torn rollerblades in Karl’s hands, lets out an all-too-dramatic gasp. “Holy shitballs, Karl, are you _skating with the skater boy?_ ”

Karl faults. He starts to think that this is a type of conversation that should be reserved for when he’s wearing a shirt and when Wilbur is wearing pants. “Yeah. Kinda. Yes. Yeah.”

“You smooth motherfucker.” A slap on the back is what Wilbur uses to congratulate Karl - on what, he doesn’t necessarily know or _want_ to know. “Look at you, all grown-up.”

“You’re only two years older than me.”

“Two years of wisdom that you’ll never catch up on.”

A laugh - more like a chortle - falls out of the two at the stupid statement, gaining curious stares from the rest of the occupants of the room. Karl snickers, letting out a few accidental snorts, and slaps Wilbur on the back. “Use that wisdom to put some pants on, will you?”

* * *

When he gets to the park that very same day, Karl is unsurprised to see a lone Sapnap at the bottom of the ramp, sitting on his board and sipping on an energy drink.

“You’re alone today,” Karl calls out.

Sapnap turns his head and grins. If Karl didn’t know any better, he would think Sapnap was happy to see him. “Yeah. Others are busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sapnap laughs, shrugging. It’s not an aggressive answer. “Probably work.”

“And you? What are _you_ doing?”

“Escaping the house.”

“Ah.”

A moment of silence encompasses them before Sapnap speaks again - “How was class?”

“Pretty fun. We’ve got stuff planned out. Now we just need to practice.”

Sapnap hums, nodding whilst he sips. Karl quite likes this about Sapnap. How he always pays attention to Karl when he’s speaking. Like he’s actually interested in the things Karl says, no matter how mundane they are.

“So,” Karl starts.

“So?”

Sheepishly, Karl reaches into the sports bag at his side, and fishes out his rollerblades. From where he is staring up at Karl, Sapnap laughs and nods.

* * *

“You’ve improved,” Sapnap says, breaking the comfortable silence of the evening.

Karl glides over to the shaded area where Sapnap stands, stopping in front of him using the technique George has taught him - pivoting around in an almost full circle. It’s extravagant. It’s unnecessary. It’s perfect. “Have I?” he asks, though he knows for a fact he has.

Tracing his fingers across the edge of his board, Sapnap grins up at Karl - who is pointedly trying not to stare at the glistening colourful skin of Sapnap’s bare arms (the devil of a man wore a _singlet,_ for christ’s sake). “Undoubtedly.”

“Undoubtedly, huh?” Karl imitates, giggling. He pushes off softly, turning in slow circles with his arms out - more for theatrics than balance, now. “You proud of me?” 

“ _Undoubtedly,_ ” Sapnap repeats, void of hesitation.

Blood rushes up to Karl’s face - and he blames it on the summer heat.

Yeah.

The summer heat.

That’s what’s to blame.

* * *

Halfway through summer, Karl finds himself alone with Sapnap yet again. 

It is the first time in a while, actually. That they have been alone. And it seems Sapnap has unknowingly celebrated the event by going shirtless.

Yes, that’s right.

_Shirtless._

Karl is incredibly thankful he’s not wearing his ballet tights at this moment. This moment, where he stares down at Sapnap, lying on the cement of the bottom of the ramp, limbs spread out and sparkling with sweat. (Offhandedly, Karl finds his mind making some stupid comment about one Edward Cullen, but he swats the thought away before it can morph into words.) The sun beams down on the skater boy, tan skin shimmering and colourful tattoo sleeves glittering right in Karl’s red-flushed face.

“Are you trying to cook yourself?” Karl asks, jumping down to be closer. He positions himself methodically, covering Sapnap’s face from the sun.

“Trying to get a tan,” Sapnap jokes, eyes opening to meet Karl’s gaze.

“I think it’s working,” Karl comments. “Really brings out the tattoos.”

Sapnap chuckles, adjusting his bandana again.

A similar thought comes to Karl’s mind - how come Sapnap never takes off his bandana? And also, how is it not drenched in sweat?

“Does it? I should lie here for a couple more hours, then.”

“Sun’s only up for like, two more hours.”

“You’re here for one of those two hours, right?”

“Supposedly.”

Sapnap reaches out his arms, beckoning Karl down with a flick of his fingers. “C’mere. Lay down with me.”

“It’s boiling hot,” Karl scoffs, but lays down anyway. “Something up?”

It’s a weird phrase, Karl realises. But Sapnap seems to understand it. “Nah, not much. Just… too hot to skate around.”

“But not hot enough to sun-bathe in what feels like the seventh circle of Hell?” Karl rebukes, already feeling his forehead drip with sweat.

“Never too hot to make yourself look hotter.”

Karl hums. “You’re hot enough already, though.”

Two seconds pass before Karl realises what the fuck has just come out of that stupid mouth of his.

“Wait, wait!” - He sits up - “Waitwaitwait- I didn’t mean it like-”

His shit excuse is interrupted by Sapnap’s chortling laughter - a gift to Karl’s ears. “You think I’m hot, do you?”

Something in Karl snaps - what triggers it is a tie between Sapnap's smirk, and Sapnap’s teasing. But Karl has finally reached the end of his fuse. "And what if I do?"

Sapnap hums. “I’d ask what exactly makes you think that.”

"It's the tattoos," Karl answers. "They up your score by at least 45 percent. I only have one, but you’ve got full sleeves, and they look super cool.”

This makes Sapnap finally sit up, eyes wide and mouth grinning. "You have a tattoo? _You?_ "

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Karl snorts. “It’s just a dumb little minimalist one. Nothing cool like yours. Just… something for sentiment’s sake, I guess.”

“Nothing wrong with sentiment,” Sapnap argues, getting up and beckoning Karl to follow him into the shaded area of the park. “Tell me the story.”

It is not the first time Sapnap has continued the conversation like this - and every time, Karl takes advantage of it. “Well. Um. There was this- I dance, right? Yeah, you know. And well, when I was 14, I entered into a competition - _The Pyro Performances._ Stupid name, but I give it kudos for the alliteration. And, like, you’ll never believe it happened, but I won! I won it!”

“You won the very first competition you entered?”

“I did.”

Sapnap takes a seat, dropping his board to his feet and idly rolling it. “I’m very proud of you,” he says, to Karl, who remains standing if only to prevent him from tackling Sapnap in a tight hug right then and there. “Anyway,” Sapnap says, “continue.”

“Uh. Yeah. Continuing. Yes. So, uh, like. I won first! It was an important memory for me, still is, and I wanted to commemorate it. So a few months ago, I got a tattoo of a fire symbol. Pyro, fire. Yeah. You know. I say it’s fire, but really, it’s just…a triangle.”

At the realisation that he has been rambling on for however long, Karl finally stops talking and breathes. Sapnap takes the pause to interject with a hum, as he tilts his head and raises a brow. “Where’d you get it?” he asks innocently, wondering.

He doesn’t miss the way the question makes Karl flinch. Nor the way Karl’s face morphs into red - and Sapnap _knows_ it’s not because of the sun.

“Hmm, Karl?” he provokes, bracing his arms on his thighs; leaning forward and tilting his head up to stare at the boy before him right in the eyes. “Where’s the tattoo?”

It’s a command, rather than a question, Karl thinks.

And so, he answers.

“My… um.” He clears his throat, and Sapnap’s eyes catch on the way Karl tugs the hem of his t-shirt down. “My right… inner… thigh?”

In the sudden silence of the evening, the only sound that breaks the atmosphere is a low whistle from Sapnap’s lips.

“It- It’s just there, to, like, you know-” Karl sputters, throwing his hands here and there in an attempt to explain himself, “It’s just- positioned in a place where it won’t show up! Like, during performances. In costume. Hidden away, so it won’t be seen too often, by too many people, and-”

“ _Karl._ ” He pauses his rambling, and finally meets Sapnap’s gaze, staring in quiet panic as he watches the skater boy’s eyes run over his limbs - ever so teasingly; ever so playfully. “Am _I_ ever going to see this… fire symbol?” He asks, eyes dark and brow raised.

From where his tattooed arms are still on his thighs, Sapnap leans forward and tugs the hem of Karl’s t-shirt toward him, nudging the boy forward. “Why would you… want to-”

“I think you know the answer to that question, Karl,” Sapnap interrupts, devilish smile painting his features. Gentle fingers twist and twirl the fabric of Karl’s shirt, and Karl gets the feeling Sapnap quite enjoys invoking this panic of his.

Fortunately for Karl, he’s not afraid to play with fire. “Play your cards right,” he hums, gently releasing Sapnap’s grip on his shirt, “and you just might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok listen I know Karl is afraid of needles and the only tattoo he got was of those two dots on his hand but this is a fictional story so let's not focus on those details 😇
> 
> i speedran this chapter bc karlnap brainrot go brr so uh ahaha if there are any (or many) mistakes,,,,, pls tell me-
> 
> anyway, last chapter next!! get hyped lol


	3. Ali Alienu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sometimes you just jump and hope it's not a cliff.”  
> ― Casey McQuiston, _Red, White & Royal Blue_
> 
> chapter 3: for [ali](https://twitter.com/Alienu_), who was - and still very much is - one of my biggest motivations to continue writing. a staple in my online life. thank you for becoming my friend however long ago and continuing to make me smile :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> later on in the chapter, Karl performs to a rendition of _Libertango_. [here's a link to that rendition](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7MYFeW1t_Bw) :)

It is autumn, and summer has moved aside to make way for red leaves, fashionable scarves, and Pumpkin Spice Lattes coating Karl’s throat whenever he can afford to buy one. It is autumn, and Karl’s body has decreased in its bruises - much to his (and Wilbur’s, and Sapnap’s, and his parents’, and his ballet teacher’s) joy. It is autumn, and Karl has decided it is high time Wilbur stop pestering him about meeting The Skater Boy.

And so, here they are.

Standing in a weird triangle formation, in the entrance of the skate park, on a Thursday afternoon. 

Wilbur looks irritatingly excited. Sapnap looks pleasantly amused. Karl looks like he’s regretting not getting an extra shot of espresso in his Pumpkin Spice Latte. “Wilbur, Sapnap. Sapnap, Wilbur.” He then adds, “Play nice.”

Evidently, they will not.

“ _Wilbur_ ,” Sapnap repeats, a smirk already on his face. “That’s a unique name.”

“So is _Sapnap_ ,” Wilbur replies with a similar glint in his eye.

Karl doesn’t know whether he should be worried or relieved at their banter. Sapnap chuckles, colourful arms crossing over his chest. Somehow, the many inches Wilbur has over him doesn’t seem to affect his attitude. “Fair enough. To be fair though, ‘Sapnap’ isn’t my real name.”

“And ‘Wilbur’ isn’t mine,” is the rebuttal. “We all have our secrets, skater boy.”

Karl feels himself flinch at the nickname, but keeps his head down. When he glances up, through his lashes, he sees Sapnap grinning at him. He thinks he can see the boy’s thought process: _I’ll question you about that later._

With a tug on Karl’s scarf, Sapnap pulls him to his side, and drapes a casual arm around his shoulders. “You know,” Sapnap says, “I kinda like you, Wilbur.”

“That’s nice,” Wilbur says with a smile. “Wish I could say the same about you.”

“Wilbur!” Karl sputters, slapping the side of Wilbur’s arm whilst Sapnap loses himself in easy laughter. The slap doesn’t seem to have an effect on anything.

Wilbur laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Just having fun.” He looks down at his watch idly, and whistles. “I’ve gotta get going though, so you won’t have to worry about me anymore. See you tomorrow, Karl. Bye, Sapnap.”

With that, Wilbur walks off toward the studio carpark, a cheerful pep in his step. Sapnap swears on his award-winning hearing that Wilbur is _humming_ as he strolls away.

Karl sighs next to him. “Sorry about that,” he says. “He means well, though.”

Sapnap grants him a hum in response. He waits for Wilbur’s car to be out of sight before he tightens his arm around Karl’s neck, dragging the boy closer. “So,” he says, quiet enough that even the cracks of the skatepark cement strain to listen, “about that whole _skater boy_ fiasco.”

Despite himself, Karl flinches again, and refuses to look over - instead keeping his gaze locked onto the studio across the road. He clears his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sapnap laughs, running his fingers against the cut of Karl’s jaw. The shiver Karl gives him is satisfying to no end. “Lying doesn’t suit you,” Sapnap murmurs. “Stick to ballet.”

* * *

The red leaves have started falling, and Karl’s body is sore from practice. (It’ll be worth it, though. In the long run. He’ll be the best damn thing that has stepped foot on that stage in the last twenty years and it will be _fabulous._ )

With the choreography having finally reached perfection, the time to advertise has reared its ugly head - by request of their teacher, the students were given posters to scatter around town. And Karl, the grand opportunist that he is, is using his definitely-not-lamined-no-not-at-all copy to invite the one and only…

Sapnap.

* * *

With flushed ears, averted eyes, and his heart beating out of his chest, Karl shoves a flyer into Sapnap’s face. He misses - and shoves his hand into Sapnap’s broad chest instead.

“Um,” Karl starts, _definitely_ not panicking at the way Sapnap lifts Karl’s hand, takes the flyer, and then plops Karl’s hand right back onto his chest. “I, uh. Am performing. Next month.”

“Yes; I see that.” Sapnap chuckles, looks down at the poster, and reads aloud: “Karl Jacobs and Wilbur Soot… _Libertango._ ” Karl’s heart skips a beat at the way Sapnap glances up at him beneath long lashes. “A duet?”

Karl nods.

Sapnap hums in response; Karl feels the vibrations of Sapnap’s voice travel from his hand all the way to his spine; feels the way it makes him shiver. He shakes himself out of his stupor and meets eyes with Sapnap, who has a raised brow. (Karl doesn’t know whether it’s in curiosity or amusement - but some part of him thinks it’s both.)

“I’d like it if you came to watch,” he says, and Sapnap’s brow raises further.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward, just in time for him to start tapping his fingers against Karl’s wrist, forcing him to remain hyper-aware of their position. (Karl is suddenly very thankful that Sapnap is wearing a shirt today.) “And what’s in it for me?”

“Good karma?” When Sapnap’s response is only a blink, Karl realises he needs context: “It’s for a fundraiser.”

Karl feels more than hears Sapnap hum again, and is undoubtedly sure that he is doing it just to see the way it makes the hairs on Karl’s arms stand. He strokes a finger across Karl’s forearm and watches the boy before him squirm. Karl shifts on his feet and finds his eyes searching around the place for something other than Sapnap’s gaze to focus on.

It doesn’t work.

It’s still not working as Karl watches Sapnap’s eyes twinkle with a smile. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll go.”

The beaming from Karl’s face almost makes Sapnap wish he could pull down his bandana to cover his eyes instead of his forehead.

“On one condition,” he adds.

Karl huffs and rolls his eyes. “It’s you; of course there’s a condition.”

“You know me well,” Sapnap chuckles softly.

When the movement makes Karl blush again, Sapnap decides to have mercy for once and let his hand go. Karl hastily takes his hand back, and Sapnap watches in amusement as he fumbles - unsure of where to put his hand, now that it’s not preoccupied with feeling up Sapnap’s chest. (An unmistakably large portion of Sapnap’s mind wants to hold Karl’s hand again, just to see what would happen.)

Karl settles for clasping his hands together and fiddling with his own fingers. “What’s the condition?” he asks cautiously, anxious of the answer.

Sapnap hums, a familiar mischievous glint in his eye. He gives into that temptation of holding Karl, if only a little less intimate than he wishes it were. The hairs on Karl’s nape feel softer than Sapnap thought they would be. The owlish blinking he gets in response to his caressing Karl’s neck is entirely worth it.

"Pack your blades on the night,” he mumbles below his breath, making sure to keep his grip on Karl’s neck as gentle as ever.

A gulp, and then Karl nods.

* * *

“So. Performance tomorrow, huh?”

Karl should be used to Sapnap starting their conversations by now, but - unsurprisingly - he is not. “Yeah,” he says, swinging his legs back and forth from the metal bench, letting the weight of the rollerblades do all the momentum work.

“Excited?” calls the boy on the ramp, voice zooming by left and right in front of Karl.

“Very!” Karl yells back, watching Sapnap flip in the air and land with grace. Then, he adds, quiter: “Especially since you’re coming.”

He watches Sapnap skid to a stop and make his way over, and lets his eyes watch the tattooed muscles of Sapnap’s forearms flex. (Karl is glad the emerging chill of winter hasn’t stopped Sapnap from rolling up the sleeves of the recently-come-back varsity jacket.) “I heard that, you know,” Sapnap chuckles, softly, when he’s made it into an intimate earshot.

Karl tilts his head up to look Sapnap in the eyes. “Grade-A hearing,” he says.

“Grade-A hearing,” Sapnap agrees.

“And is there a problem with what I said?” Karl asks, innocently blinking up at Sapnap, who has placed a familiar foot on his skateboard, rolling it back and forth yet again.

“You know, I missed your shy-self,” he says out of nowhere. “You were so cute.”

“ _‘Were’_?” Karl repeats, raising a brow.

“I used to have all the power, Karl. I could make you blush with a wink. Now you just eye my muscles up all the time and don’t feel embarrassed about it.”

“It’s been almost a year; I’ve lost my shame. But, I mean. Do you want me to _stop_ eyeing you up?” he asks, more teasing than an actual query.

“I never said _that,_ ” Sapnap snorts, adjusting the spotless white bandage around his forehead.

Karl watches his strong hands do that - he watches Sapnap’s strong hands do a lot of things. But this in particular, he has seen many a time. Adjusting that white bandana. The one that seems sewn onto Sapnap’s forehead itself. Karl has wondered about that bandana a multitude of times - always curious as to why Sapnap never takes it off.

At last, he lets his curiosity wonder. “Hey. Sapnap.”

“Hm?”

“I have a deal.”

Sapnap hums, smirk growing. “A deal with the devil, eh? You’re a risky one.”

The response is a snort. “Stop it,” Karl says. 

Sapnap knows he doesn’t mean it. He chuckles, then takes a seat next to Karl, shoving their shoulders together and leaving his board by the edge of the ramp. “Well? Explain this deal to me.”

“Okay,” Karl starts. “So. I’ll show you my tattoo-” Sapnap’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, ready to tease, but Karl shuts him up: “but! But.”

With a roll of his eyes, Sapnap raises a brow and scoffs. “But what?”

“ _You_ have to take off your bandana.”

Sapnap blinks.

And then he blinks.

And then he blinks again.

For the first time since Karl has met him, Sapnap is speechless.

It makes Karl’s heart pound - and _not_ in the good way.

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Oh, shit. Sorry-” Karl jumps up and backs away, shuffling on his feet. Sapnap simply stares at him. “I didn’t- Well, I just- You don’t have to. Sorry. I’m super sorry. That was real insensitive of me, _wow_. Just ignore me, sorry, I was just-”

Sapnap manages to catch him by the wrist before he scuttles too far away. “Karl.” He looks at Sapnap, at the unusually soft demeanor in his eyes. At the slight creases in the corners; the soft crooked smile. It’s as genuine as a smile could get. “It’s okay. You’re fine; I’m not angry. I promise. It’s just…” He clears his throat. “Do you... really want to see?”

Karl shifts on his feet, hyper-aware of Sapnap’s soft hand on his wrist. “I mean… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious,” he admits, chewing on his lip. “But it’s your choice - you don’t have to tell me, seriously. I just, um. I don’t know. Sorry. This wasn’t-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Sapnap reassures, tightening his grip in a pulse. It’s hard not to notice the sincerity in his brown eyes. “I understand why you’re curious,” he levels out, pulling Karl ever so closer, back to the edge, between the gap of his knees. Karl lets Sapnap guide him around; he’d let Sapnap lead him across anything and anywhere, he thinks.

Karl is still letting Sapnap guide him when his hands are taken into tanned ones, and placed onto white fabric. Sapnap is smiling up at the boy before him when he nudges Karl’s hands up; when he nudges his bandage up; when he finally lets Karl in on what he has never let someone in on before.

A scar.

An ugly one.

It marks Sapnap’s face from temple to temple, jagged pink skin looking raw to the touch. Karl very much thinks everything about Sapnap is attractive - but there is no denying this flaw on his skin. It looks horrifying, Karl thinks. But he’s not not going to let himself be put off.

“Does it… hurt?” Karl tries, almost choking on the words.

Sapnap shakes his head gently, eyes still boring into Karl’s - searching for a reaction, or a lack thereof, or anything to indicate his feelings towards the damage. “It doesn’t.”

It’s unclear what caused it. Karl doesn’t want to ask. He doesn't need to. Sapnap is beautiful beyond a simple scar.

 _His hair is so soft,_ Karl thinks in the moment, fingers combed through Sapnap’s dark brown locks on either side of his head. “Your hair is soft,” he whispers aloud, like it’s a message only meant to reach Sapnap’s ears, and nothing beyond it. Not even the air around them.

“Yeah?” Sapnap’s voice is, perhaps, even quieter.

Karl doesn’t even realise he’s smiling when he leans down and presses the gentlest kiss he has ever laid - right against that raw, pink skin. It almost feels like no contact. Almost.

"Yeah." When he pulls back slightly, just enough to comfortably talk face-to-face, he sees that Sapnap’s mouth is hanging open, and his brown pupils are surrounded by pools of white.

It is the second time that he is speechless.

And Karl takes pride in it this time.

“Why did…” Sapnap mouths his confusion more than speaks it, but the only thing Karl can hear is Sapnap’s voice and the beat of his own heart in his ears. “Why-”

“Can I kiss you _?_ ”

Sapnap blinks, brows furrowing. "Are- Do you-" He stammers - and while Karl tells himself he shouldn't be finding it cute in this situation, he does. 

The skater boy, on the other hand, panics in his own way. He’s used to flirting. He’s used to playing games. He’s just not used to them _going somewhere._ Doing something. He’s not used to winning them. It’s unchartered territory for him. But with Karl, he thinks briefly, it might not be so bad to venture.

Sapnap finally gathers himself and drags out: "Do you… _want_ to…?"

Karl’s body moves faster than his brain does - and before he knows it, he's cupping Sapnap's face in his hands. His jaw fits perfectly in Karl’s palms; it’s like his hands were sculptured to embrace him. And with this stance, with his skin melded perfectly with Sapnap’s, he utters poetry akin to Greek academics: "God help me, Sapnap, if you don't let me kiss you in the next five seconds, I will _lose_ my _shit_."

He didn’t know that Sapnap’s eyes could go wider, but they do. They almost pop out of their goddamn sockets. "Okay," he murmurs out, along with a choking noise. "O-Okay. You can- um. You-"

Karl shuts him up.

In quite the best way possible.

Kissing Sapnap is the most euphoric experience he's had in his entire eighteen years of existence.

And it seems Sapnap feels the same. (If the way he exhales, limbs relaxing and falling into the connection, says anything.)

Soon enough, Sapnap’s hands are exploring Karl’s body.

Curiously.

Tentatively.

Like he's afraid of making Karl pull away.

( _Like that would ever happen._ )

He lets his hands trail Karl’s anatomy in a way that leaves sparks in Karl's vision. A hand along the collarbone; a hand against his outer thigh. Fingers running down his spine; fingers playing with the short hairs of his nape.

Karl is the one that initiated it...

But God forbid he be the one to continue.

Sapnap keeps it tame - Karl can tell. The slight hesitation between exploration, and the restraint of pushing further are painfully obvious. Karl wishes Sapnap _would_ take it further.

But they're in a public area, and while he likes Sapnap oh so _very_ much, Karl isn't willing to get a criminal offense of public indecency for him just yet.

Instead, he lets himself fall onto his knees between Sapnap’s legs, lips still melded together all the way down. He lets Sapnap set a rhythm; lets Sapnap drag him along for the ride.

Faintly, behind heartbeats and soft breaths and sparking minds, Karl can hear Sapnap's skateboard fall off the edge and roll down the ramp.

* * *

By the time the pair finally part, Sapnap's skateboard is stationary.

* * *

Sapnap has been sitting in one of the cushioned seats of the auditorium for what feels like five hours now, and he is getting restless.

He’s paid; he’s eaten; he’s waited. He’s watched an entire dozen and a half of routines, none of them quite catching his eye past the surface-level of, “oh, that’s nice”, and Karl has yet to show up.

Sapnap’s here for Karl. He’s here for the beauty of a man and the fantastical dance he promised him and the chance to see those slender limbs in fitted clothing. What he’s _not_ here for is the group of eight year old girls trying their best to dance contemporary to a Lady Gaga song.

“He’s the last act,” comes a voice beside him, pulling Sapnap out of his brooding.

He turns his head to see Dream, next to him, reading a program printed onto sleek gold paper. “He’s the fucking _what?_ ”

“Last act.” Dream opens the program, shoving it into Sapnap’s face and pointing to the very end of the list of performers:

_Karl Jacobs and Wilbur Soot: Libertango_

Sapnap briefly remembers thinking to himself half a year ago, _I would wait a thousand years._ But now, he’s somewhat regretting that thought process.

The girls on-stage finish up their routine and twirl off to backstage, and Sapnap sighs into the applause that follows. As he makes himself comfortable, he faintly hears George and Quackity next to Dream, continuing on their rating of each performance.

Karl will be worth the wait, Sapnap supposes.

* * *

Karl is worth the wait.

He is most definitely worth the wait.

Sapnap doesn’t know why he ever doubted that.

Not here; not when he’s sat in the middle of a dark auditorium, mouth hanging open and eyes caught on the way Karl moves his body across the stage like he’s made out of the water from a spring over yonder. The dramatic melody of _Libertango_ surrounds him, pumping a certain excitement through his veins, and he can’t take his eyes off of Karl on the stage.

He doesn’t even realise he’s holding his breath until the performance ends, the lights turn back on, and he is watching Karl take a grand bow, arms linked in a line of performers across the stage.

Sapnap finally exhales, lungs deflating in a way that leaves him reeling.

His eyes are locked on Karl.

And soon enough, Karl’s are locked on him, too. They meet him through the crowd and the lights of glitz and glamour and applause - they meet him in earnesty and sincerity. Karl smiles at him through the chaos; eyes lighting up brighter than any stage lights could ever hope to be.

And in this moment, brown eyes enchanted by gray ones, Sapnap thinks that he was justified in all his staring at the ballet boy across the road, all those months ago.

* * *

“Karl!”

Backstage of the auditorium, Karl is finally sitting down after making his rounds of the students, complimenting them on their performances.

He turns in his dressing room chair to see Niki approaching him, still dressed in a pastel pink dress that looks like if air were made into a material. She’s holding a small bouquet of purple flowers, wrapped in green tissue paper. It’s a beautiful sight to behold; they suit her.

“Niki!” He smiles, standing up and twirling her softly. “You did such a great job with your solo.”

A blush forms on her ears, and she laughs. “Thank you, thank you. But I didn’t come here to fish for compliments! Here,” she says, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you. From someone in the crowd.”

Karl almost melts when he gets the bouquet into his hands, hugging the gathering of flowers to his chest. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem at all.” Niki smiles. “There’s also a note attached to it, by the way.” A glance down at the bouquet confirms the statement, and Karl is about to turn it over when Niki speaks again: “I’m off to get some dinner with Wilbur as a celebration. Enjoy your own evening, Karl!” 

With that and an amiable wave, Niki floats out of Karl’s dressing room. Left to his own devices, Karl turns over the note attached to his flowers.

On the green card, written in what looks like an attempt at cursive, is a message.

> _You know where to find me._

Karl doesn’t need to question who sent it.

* * *

The skatepark looks different at night. It looks serene under the lights of the street lamps. Karl’s annoyed that he hasn’t had the chance to come here during the night before.

More annoyed that he hasn’t seen _this_ sight before:

Sapnap, in a white dress shirt and black slacks, hands in pockets, bandana off. Skateboard away; rollerblades on. He idly glides around the flat cement on the side of the park, looking graceful as ever.

Karl almost trips over himself in his hurry to slip his blades on from his bag and skate over to Sapnap.

As he pushes off toward Sapnap, Karl hears the soft increase of music playing as he approaches - it is a slow, almost lo-fi version of _Libertango._ How Sapnap managed to find a lo-fi cover of _Libertango_ , of all things, Karl will never know. 

Sapnap waits patiently until Karl is in front of him, closing that gap between them ever so slightly with his gliding. When Karl is finally within his grasp, he smiles.

"You were beautiful out there," Sapnap says.

"Thanks. You're not too bad yourself," Karl jokes, gesturing to the fancy clothing Sapnap is wearing. "I almost feel under-dressed." Certainly, in only a sweater and jeans, he does. The only thing that ups his outfit is the bouquet he holds in his hands. "Thank you for these, by the way."

"They’re not much," Sapnap shrugs. "They just… reminded me of you."

"How so?"

"Platycodon grandiflorus,” he says. “The Chinese bellflower, also known as the balloon flower. They represent gratitude, affection, and everlasting… Uh. Um.” He coughs. “ _Anyway_ , enough about that."

Sapnap gently takes the flowers out of Karl's hand and skates to the cement bench behind him, placing the flowers next to a small speaker that Karl assumes is playing the music that is still ongoing. He’s grinning when Sapnap skates back to him with a paired smile. It's a teasing smile, Karl thinks. Teasing in the way that it is gentle and endearing.

"Dance with me," Sapnap croons - clear and coherent - as he takes Karl's hands into his own.

Karl lifts Sapnap's hands up, laying a soft kiss on his knuckles, and whispers back, "How could I not?"

Sapnap pushes off - slowly and steadily, letting momentum guide them. With both hands enveloping Karl’s, Sapnap pulls Karl across the smooth cement of the skate park, never once averting his gaze.

They do this for however long they need to - a year of built-up affection flooding out into a singular dance together on the cement of a skatepark across a ballet studio. It is the calmest thing Karl has experienced in a long while.

The view of an audience clapping and of lights shining was beautiful, Karl thinks, but this view is better. Sapnap, singularly illuminated by the park lights and the moon, an unfiltered smile on his beautiful face.

Sapnap notices Karl’s staring, and that smile soon turns into a familiar smirk. “You know what, Karl?”

“Yes, Sapnap?”

Sapnap hums. The smirk that spreads his lips makes Karl’s heart stutter. “You never did show me your tattoo.”

Karl decides he’s been playing with fire too long not to retaliate. With a hum, he winds his fingers through the strands of Sapnap’s hair, drowning in the bliss his mind gives him when Sapnap’s eyes go darker.

A promise of the future winds between them, following in the wake of their blades against cement. Wordlessly, Sapnap draws Karl close; pulls Karl's arms to wrap around his neck; rests his hands on Karl's waist.

With all the experience of the world, he guides them across the pavement, blades on cement and gentle breaths and faint music the only sounds between them and the world.

Sapnap leads Karl around to the soft notes of _Libertango._

And Karl lets him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


[the end.]

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached the end! short and sweet methinks :^)
> 
> i had a lot of fun writing this, and i hope you had fun reading it! its a lot more of a casual writing style than I've worked with before, so i hope if you've come from one of my other works, this hasn't put you off too much :)
> 
> writing all chill like this was actually very enjoyable; im considering writing some more like this in the future lol. lmk if that's something any of yall would enjoy :D that's all for now!
> 
> until next time! <3

**Author's Note:**

> follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kivy_) (@kivy_) for shenanigans :D


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